


A case of Blueballs

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Jealous John, Jim being Jim, M/M, Sherlock BBC Verse, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Some Humor, Some Plot, Top John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 02:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Cock-blocked John Watson spots Sherlock in a compromising position with someone.Hijinks and fireworks ensue





	A case of Blueballs

John Watson was in trouble.

 

_And he knew it was nobody’s fault but his own._

 

He tried apportioning the blame to several others. For example, he always blamed his flat mate, on and off lover, friend and colleague Sherlock Holmes as the man who turned him gay. Before Sherlock he had been ramrod straight, or so he thought. Women, breasts, the curve of a womanly arse, all these things aroused him and he had made the most of his desires by dating several women and getting into the bed of at least some of them. But one year into living with Sherlock and he could no longer look at them the same way. Those breasts now looked like udders to him, the arses seemed way too big and the lips too bloody colored and unnatural.

 

Instead he liked the slender hips, bubble butt and lean thighs of his friend Sherlock. He liked his smooth, hairless chest which was practically sculpted on his breastbone with two little sensitive nubs on it. He adored the flat belly and the bush beneath it, leading to the long manhood that was the prettiest shade of pink and light brown in its natural state and a dramatic crimson red and burgundy when engorged with blood. He liked the rasp of stubble when their cheeks rubbed together and the thinner but beautifully shaped lips of the man as he pressed their mouths together.

 

_Of course it was Sherlock’s fault for being so damned gorgeous and sexy and yet being totally unware of it._

 

Next he blamed Mrs. Hudson for constantly pushing him into that ‘relationship’. Friendship, being comrades in arms or even better, colleagues who solved crimes together, was so much better. There was no sexual tension between them and things were much easier then. But that wise old woman who had trouble keeping her counsel to herself had ended up putting a shitload of feelings in John. Her constant sayings ‘Oh you two make such an adorable couple’, ‘John you must look after Sherlock, he’s your partner’ and ‘I know it when I see two people in love’ had ended up manipulating John into this ‘relationship’.

 

But it was not a normal relationship because Sherlock was, in most cases, _just the same old Sherlock_. When he had a case he remembered nothing and no one, neither John nor their so-called relationship, and succumbed to his frenzy about finding the criminal.

 

He blamed Molly for whatever happened after that. The pretty but thick-headed lab worker had once had a serious discussion with John and made one thing clear. “Listen, if he’s gay and doesn’t like women, then he must be with a man who cares about him and puts his happiness before everything else. That man has to be you, John. It can’t be anyone else _because only you understand Sherlock_.”

 

When they first had sex, John had seen a different kind of Sherlock, a totally different side. The iceberg had melted on the sheets under them, the heat of their passion making the rigid, wisecracking and work-obsessed man turn into a cuddly, affectionate sleepy little kitten. John had become addicted but that had also caused the unwanted ‘Awkwardness of Unspoken Expectations’ syndrome.

 

To his absolute disappointment and sometimes shock, he found that _Sherlock’s needs were not always so physical_. While he did need sex once in a while, he most often could make do with just sleeping on the same bed next to John. He could be totally happy with just a forehead kiss.

 

John on the other hand was a hot-blooded, sexed-up, testosterone-driven man _who needed it on a daily basis_ , sometimes more than once. But Sherlock continued his daily bachelor habits, interspersing their new status as a couple in only small proportions and only where he needed it, not when John had his needs. He hated sleeping alone on certain nights and ensured he had John as the big spoon in bed and holding him protectively. He knew he liked milk and tea and the occasional hot Toddy and made John do the grocery shopping, bringing in the milk and preparing the Toddy for him. He called John in when he took a rather elaborate bath once a week (he usually showered on two or three other days, real quick ones) and asked him to do his back properly.

 

Other than that things were back to square one. While at work, Sherlock still forgot to wait for John and took cabs by himself and disappeared. He pushed all the paperwork towards John and made a special attempt to insult Donovan and Andersen. At home he spent the whole night awake on his chair, thinking about the case and sometimes tinkering with his chemistry experiments while John slept alone in the bedroom.

 

John blamed Lestrade.

 

“Sex ruins friendship,” Greg Lestrade had said when, on a very rare occasion, John had confessed that his relationship with Sherlock was now a fact and not just a figment of imagination of Scotland Yard detectives and forensic staff, “You shouldn’t let him think that’s the glue that holds you both together. It’s important but he must not think _it is the only thing_ that’s important.”

 

As a result of that, John had stopped coaxing Sherlock into a good ‘screw’.

 

And now, almost three weeks since they had last gotten intimate, John was suffering from a severe case of blueballs. All because of that confounded Lestrade he had let Sherlock believe he would not need ‘it’ and naturally Sherlock had not offered ‘it’ while ‘it’ continued to bother John so much that he had to masturbate every night in order to keep his head, and his balls, from exploding.

 

What made things worse was that Sherlock was unconsciously enticing him and then cock-blocking him, leading to the doubling of his misery.

 

One fine day the young and handsome detective had decided to get a temporary tattoo on his tailbone and, citing the warm weather at that time of the year, stayed shirtless all day at home. John could not only see the tattoo, which kept peeking out from above the waistband of his loose track-pants, he could even see a hint of butt crack now and then as Sherlock kept dropping things and bending down to pick them up.

 

He had been so hard he could have taken Sherlock three times in a row but Sherlock had gotten engrossed in an experiment right after and even called some of his homeless network to 221B because he had a job for them. John had jerked off in the bathroom, then taken a cold shower.

 

On another occasion John had woken up to find Sherlock lying on top of the covers, asleep, stark naked. Now which adult does that! Okay, maybe some do but not Sherlock. He always slept in the buff but never on top of the bedclothes. If he needed to do that he kept his boxers on and sometimes even his T shirt. The sight of his lover’s lily-white butt, smooth long pins and the well-hung balls between them, it had made John nearly die of a lust-induced heart attack. But it felt so wrong to take advantage of a soundly sleeping man that he had made a quick trip to the washroom, wanked there and come back feeling only half-satisfied. He was even considering waking Sherlock for a proper ‘do’ when the detective had jumped out of bed saying he had to meet a client.

 

Then there was the occasion when Sherlock asked him to buy underwear for him or that time when they were in the cab and Sherlock had an evident erection which he put down to ‘I always get super-aroused when I solve a difficult case’. But they had stopped at Mycroft’s and on their way back from Belgravia Sherlock had no evidence of an arousal left in his trousers. He was grumpy and sullen even though Mycroft had said nothing so bad or objectionable on that visit.

 

_Twenty-three days and twenty-two nights. John had counted._

_No sex. Not even a hand-job or a bit of rubbing and frottage._

_His right hand had developed extra muscle tone from constantly jerking off to relieve the tension in his balls._

_Now he was so frustrated he felt he was about to become a live example of ‘Blue balls’._

 

But on the twenty-third night things changed.

 

***

 

John was sitting on his designated chair and wallowing in the misery a musician would experience if he had just broken his only guitar and feeling as useless as a forest which had just seen all its trees burned in a wildfire.

 

Sherlock was not home yet. It wasn’t as if he never came back late but tonight there was no reason for him to be out. No case, no clients, no errands to run (when did he ever run errands anyways), Sherlock could have been home hours ago. Maybe they could have had some romantic moments on the couch and he could have ravished the beautiful Englishman then and there. But no such luck.

 

Around ten in the night he heard the sounds of a familiar shrill laughter, followed by the deep-throated chuckles of Sherlock. Instantly alarm bells went off in John’s head. Sherlock had a guest with him? Good Lord, on this rare evening when they had no work or case the next day and could easily sleep late, wake up lazily the next noon and cuddle some, Sherlock had chosen to bring home a guest? A GUEST!!! What the hell was that man thinking? Did he not want any private time with John at all?

 

John went to the window to see who it was and gasped aloud! Moriarty. THE Moriarty. James Isaac Moriarty! The Irish born and London bred suave, attractive criminal mastermind who had always flirted with Sherlock like a slut, was now draped over Sherlock like his Belstaff coat in winter. And Sherlock was kissing the tip of that Irish nose and licking Jim’s face like a dog, as if he was some taste piece of freshly made candy bar. Whispering into each other’s ears, they barely made it out of Jim’s fancy Bentley. They were giggling and groping and-and-and they were entering the house, _their_ house, _Sherlock and John’s_ abode.

 

How dare Sherlock!

 

He was not going to let this happen.

 

Semtex vest or not, that slut had to be stopped.

 

John barreled down the stairs and met the two men just as they were about to climb the first step. “What’s going on here?” He demanded, looking at Sherlock. _He knew he would be lying if he said Moriarty didn’t scare him at all._

 

“What does it look like doctorrrr?” Jim drawled.

 

“I don’t want to believe it,” John said in a hurt voice, “Sherlock would never do this to me.”

 

“Wouldnnnn’ youuuu?” Jim sang, looking at Sherlock.

 

Sherlock’s obvious bewilderment was written large on his face. He seemed unwilling to meet Jim’s eyes, or John’s, and mumbled, “He was just coming up for tea. We actually worked together on something for a change and he was dropping me home, I asked him upstairs….”

 

“I guess part of the civilities include his hand being on your crotch?” John’s growing anger and jealousy blinded him totally and made him forsake his fears, “Really? You expect me to believe that now?” He heard Sherlock yelp and saw him instantly move away from Jim.

 

“Ooooohhh,” Jim clapped his hands like a gleeful child, “Sherly is in trouble, Sherly is in biiiiig trouble now, what fun! Go on, kick him out of 221B. Go Johnny boy, goooooo!!!”

 

“No I won’t.”

 

At this even a man like Jim seemed startled. Sherlock was literally trying to crawl past John and go upstairs. John decided to be reasonable and somewhat polite with Jim. Taking too many liberties with that man was akin to suicide and John also knew Sherlock had a bit of a soft corner for the mastermind, because of the sheer brain power he possessed. At the same time there was John’s former superior in the military, Colonel Sebastian Moran, who was reportedly Jim’s personal bodyguard, live-in companion and lover now. He didn’t want to hurt himself, Sherlock or Sebastian in any way. He had to do this diplomatically.

 

“Look Jim,” he said with respect but firmness, “Please go back to the colonel. Sherlock is your intellectual equal but in every other way he’s not your cup of tea. He needs someone around him who is less than him and has high levels of impulse control and tolerance. You can’t be that, you know it very well and so do I.”

 

“Who says I want to marry him. I just want to sleep with him.”

 

“It will change things between the two of you and I feel you rather enjoy the current chemistry. This ‘history’ between the two of you might change that chemistry irrevocably.”

 

Jim frowned. He was thinking.

 

John tried again, “Then there is Sebastian. He wouldn’t want to share you. _Neither will he cheat on you_. I know him to be a one man’s man.”

 

“You aren’t such a big idiot after all.”

 

“Huh? Excuse me?”

 

“I think I’ll go home and drag my Tiger to bed. I don’t believe I am saying this but thanks doctor. However, next time we meet I might just blow you up so don’t think of this as the beginnings of some friendship.”

 

“I wouldn’t dream of that,” John said meekly.

 

Only when Jim was out of the door and the car door opened and closed outside did John give away his nerves. He collapsed for a few moments on his knees, took deep breaths to compose himself and then headed upstairs. Now he was going to teach Sherlock a lesson. If Sherlock thought he would be in an ‘open’ relationship then he was very much mistaken. If John could give him time and space, he could claim him back viciously if needed.

 

***

 

Sherlock was totally naked and tied up in bed, arms and ankles to bed-posts with soft silk scarves. The cloth was soft and smooth but John had applied sailor’s knots on them and no matter how hard the detective tugged, he couldn’t free his limbs. The knots only got tighter.

 

His clothes were in tatters and lying all around the room, on the floor, flung over a chair, hanging from the edge of a nightstand. Between his forcefully spread legs sat John Watson, his dick rock hard and pointing straight up at his chin. His balls were heavy, he was hung like a bull.

 

Sherlock alternated between fear and lust, eyes glittering the moment he looked at the impressive endowment of his lover and his lips trembling every time John smacked his hips, thighs, butt and arms, leaving reddish imprints over the marble like skin. Sherlock’s cock was lying flat against his belly, drooling a pool over the abs. Tremors ran down his thighs and up his stomach every time John’s hard hands connected with his skin. But he had managed to keep the sounds in so far, biting the pillow or his lips or muffling the sounds against the bed. John noticed that and growled.

 

“Trying to act smart, like you don’t care much about carnal pleasures, eh?”

 

“Uhnnnn.”

 

“How about this?”

 

He pushed a well lubed vibrator inside Sherlock’s already stretched hole that he had licked open for almost ten minutes. The howl that left Sherlock’s throat could be heard across Baker Street and a neighbor’s dog even started barking.

 

It might have sounded funny at a different time but not now. Sherlock shuddered like a man going into a fit and the moment John sucked the head of his throbbing cock, he screeched and came helplessly.

 

John drank him down and sat up again, a bit of semen still hanging at the corner of his mouth. “You belong to me, to JOHN HAMISH WATSON. Not to anyone else. Do you understand?”

 

“Uhhh…..yeaaah.”

 

“Do you accept? I can’t hear you, tell me, louder.”

“YES YES YES, I do, I accept, ohhhhhh!!!”

 

“Next time you need cock, no matter how many times a week, you will come to me. ME. You will NOT invite Moriarty or anyone else. Otherwise I will edge you for three hours, got that?”

 

Sherlock’s cock jerked. John’s eyes glowed, “Look who likes being treated like a depraved whore! You want me inside? You want to feel so full you can’t even think clearly? You want to cum so often you can’t keep your eyes open and nearly piss yourself?”

 

“Fuck me Jawn,” Sherlock was all doe eyes, trembling limbs and quivering lips. John fingered his hole and found that twitching as well. Sherlock was still hard despite the huge orgasm he had just had.

 

Self-controls at stake, anger still making him super-horny, the need to claim Sherlock as his and only his burning him inside out, John could no longer keep his urges in check. He stroked himself a few times, stopping when he felt the familiar throb start to build, and positioned his erection between the open legs and stretched opening of his lover. The moment he pushed inside, he saw Sherlock’s eyes roll to the back of his head and a bead of pre-cum appear at the tip of his cock. Moving in inch by inch, feeling the vibrator against his already excited manhood, experiencing the velvety tightness of his lover’s passage after what seemed like an eternity, John knew he wouldn’t last long.

 

He bent down and sucked on Sherlock’s nipples. Bolts of arousal shot through Sherlock’s body and the younger men raised his head and shoulders off the mattress, arched his lower back, let out a shout of John’s name and pushed back hard on the invading cock. Tugging hard at his restrains, Sherlock exploded in a second orgasm which was just as intense and noisy as the first but this time he took John with him.

 

John didn’t remember ever cumming so hard before. He was so taken in by this climax that by the time it was over, he had literally lost his bearings.

 

***

 

When John woke up he realized he had fallen asleep right after his second and Sherlock’s third orgasm. Poor Sherlock was still restrained but asleep all the same, the cum had dried over his skin and he had bruises here and there, caused by John’s frenzied foreplay.

 

A sense of shock and remorse swept through John. What had he done?

 

Without further delay he untied Sherlock’s hands and feet and quickly got a wet cloth and some salve. He applied the soothing lotion on the spots where Sherlock had cloth-burns and the areas where John’s fingermarks and toothmarks showed in pink and purple glory. That done, he started to clean his lover’s thighs, stomach and crack. He was almost done and about to cover him up when he felt a ‘stare’ at the back of his head.

 

“Oh.”

 

“M’awake….”

 

“Go back to sleep. Want to eat something?”

 

“Nope. Thanks Jawn.”

 

When John gave him a totally puzzled, confused look, Sherlock began to laugh. He laughed so hard that John felt foolish, stupid and silly in equal measures. Blushing a little, he quickly slid back in bed and pulled the covers over both of them, trying not to look into Sherlock’s amused face. But to his relief, the younger man snuggled into his arms and hugged him tight, laughter still making him shake slightly. “All right then,” John said in a peeved tone, looking mildly offended, “What’s the reason for such joyful peals of laughter? Did you get your Christmas gift in July?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yes, I did. Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out yet?”

 

“This-this thing with Jim….was a set up?”

 

“Yes, for sure,” Sherlock was flushed pink, “I helped him find out who had stolen funds from him and am never going to reveal what he did with the traitor. In return, he promised to make you jealous because obviously you were in no need of any goodies in bed. For twenty-three days and nights you had not even made a move. I tried to parade naked, tried to put a temp tattoo at a strategic spot, tried to drop hints and clues and you didn’t take the bait…..”

 

“Wait-wait-wait-wait, you did those to seduce me?” John asked, astonished. Oh darn shit, how very stupid and blind he had been! “When you showed me you had an erection in the cab, that day……”

 

Sherlock nodded. “I was expecting you to blow me in the car Jawn. I have been a virgin for the first thirty years of my life and even now, after we became involved about a year and half ago, I am not really the sort of man who’d be vocal about his needs or take liberties in bed. I thought maybe you, with all your experience and confidence, with the way you made me feel each time we made love…..you would show me a thing or two.”

 

John sighed, “Guess what I looked like when I didn’t take the hint or bite the bait….a jackass. Well, I have had enough of being a jackass. From now on, I shall be more watchful, have more empathy and ensure we have a good time every night, unless we are on a case and working.” He paused momentarily and took Sherlock’s face in his hands, kissing it. “Okay, let’s make a pact Sherl. Next time, just ask. I am here for you, if you need sex you are welcome anytime. Okay? In fact I thought you had been going through your ‘asexual’ phase.”

 

“Impossible,” Sherlock snorted, eyes shining with mischief, “That’s a thing of the past.”

 

“C’mere. Thanks a lot for this. I thought I was about to die of blueballs.”

 

As a reward he got a deep, passionate kiss from John who proceeded to ravish him slowly, tenderly and lovingly this time. Sherlock was so ecstatic at the success of his ‘little plot’ and the subsequent sheet scorching hotness of their coupling, that despite being totally drained he couldn’t go back to sleep. He just stayed in John’s arms, content and sated, eyes half-open, small smile tugging at the corners of his mouths. Later, as John slept, Sherlock reached for his phone and typed a text to Jim. The man did deserve a thank you note at least.

_Thanks for the grope-and-kiss routine this evening. It worked. I will never reveal who you killed today. And by the way, since I am so pleased with what you’ve done for me, I shall give you a heads up about something else I observed this afternoon. Through deductive reasoning I have come to the conclusion that your redhead secretary is planning to have your kid. She will ask for some ‘sperm’ soon so be careful while promising her any rewards, no matter how good she is at work. See ya later – SH_

 

After a long moment’s thought, Sherlock deleted the words _‘see ya later’_ and typed _‘Your Sherly’_ instead. Jim liked flirting and teasing so maybe with this mild and harmless flirting he could convey an extra dose of gratitude towards the man.

 

Twenty minutes later he got a series of texts back from Jim.

 

_You’re very welcome you doofus – JM_

_Wait, why did you type ‘Your Sherly’ – JM_

_Sebby has seen this text – JM_

_He is not happy – JM_

_Oh ok, it had the same effect on him. Things getting X-rated now – JM_

 

“Oh c’mon please, don’t give me a running commentary on penetrative or oral sex Jimmy,” Sherlock rolled his eyes and settled for sleep. He was beginning to get dozy now.

 

Ten minutes later, he was almost nodding off when a text arrived. It was Jim again and it had a set of familiar words, only with the ‘order’ of things changed a bit.

 

_U owed me earlier but now I O U – JM_

 

“Wonderful,” Sherlock snorted, “Looks like he got more cock.”

 

Thirty seconds later another text landed. This time it was not so pleasant or thankful. _Get out of there NOW. Sebby on his way to blow your head off for kissing and groping me – JM_

 

Sherlock sighed.

 

If only life was simpler and there was a less complicated way to get relief from blueballs!


End file.
